Long Swooned Poems
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On a beautiful afternoon, crisp and sunny, I set out on a trek to the nearby woods. Except my camera, intentionally picked up, I hadn’t carried with me any other goods. All along, I saw wild flowers and strange herbs and paused to take pictures, but kept moving. No doubt, it was a rewarding experience. The lure of the unknown seemed bewitching. From the cluster of flowers on a sprawling tree, the wind wafted a rare exotic smell which I inhaled to my heart’s content. All along, I heard the twitter of chirping sparrows and some other birds and could spot large squirrels with striped designs and bushy tails. Proceeding further, heard a gurgling sound. It must be a small cataract, I did suppose. My guess was right. It fell off a rock and ran into a stream with murmur enough to lull one to sweet repose. The whistle of a quail fell in my ears and the rhythm of the tapping of a wood pecker and the creaking of dry leaves under my feet…all familiar sounds to any forest trekker! Feeling happy over my progress without a hitch, listening to the soft cajoling of birds and the confused drone of honey bees, I walked playfully stamping on the weeds.
woodland paths unwind
bringing multi scenes in row~
joy to heart and soul
By the time I reached half my way, the forest fell into darkness much
earlier to sunset. It shattered my peace and blotted out my sight, that I started running wild feeling violently upset. I knew I had strayed off the accustomed path, saw the dark sky above and heard a foreboding owl’s hoot. My path was severely obstructed by a tangle of creepers. I felt so puzzled that I could hear the loud thump of my heart. Under a thicket, covered with brambles, I saw a sudden movement as that of a beast and was afraid to look over my shoulders. My teeth chattered and my knees smote. I swooned unable to think or act, hear or see. For how long I lay there in a trance, not sure. When I woke, I saw myself lying at the foot of a tree. To my great relief, I saw the sun beams filtering down and an orange tint streaming across the foggy sky. I couldn’t say if I saw heaven or hell. Better to say, I experienced both.
unexpected turns,
life takes, landing us in angst~
yet, add to our strength
Ah had a aulder bruther whin ah wis wee,
ah wis five then an' he -wis nine yea see.
A tendid tae follow him aboot,
bit bein' aulder he widnae care a hoot.
Aw jings a remember wan day at school,
oot o' ma pocket ma hankie a bullyboy did pull.
Whit arrrr' yea cryin' fur? Ma brother Jack did say,
that big bullyboy pinched ma hankie whin ah wis at play.
Noo bein' aulder an' bigger he set aboot his bloke,
at furst the bloke thocht it wis a joke.
Bit no fur lang whin Jack grabbed this blokes wee wee parts,
the bully bloke screamed an' had an involuntary fart:)
Weel a gote ma hankie back an' it stoaped me fidgin',
as that bullyboy bloke walked away haudin' his Nether region"
Naw ma bruther wis no fond o' playin' wae me,
bit he wid a'ways protect me tae the Nth degree.
Whin a wis Nine an' ma bruther wis thirteen.
Jack wis a'ways oot an' never tae be seen,
Wan day ma faither came hame frae his workin' day.
"Alex" he shouted oot the windae , cum in this minit frae play.
Jings, crivens he wis in a blidy angry mood,
a wid hiv ran a mile if a possibly could.
Did you burn aw those window curtains doon?
a looked up at the windae an' blidy swooned.
The curtains wir hingin' wae a wee bit charcoaly thread,
oh crivens a wished as wis blidy dead,
No me faither, naw it wisnae me,
jist then, at that moment, ah hid an' involuntary pee.
The door opened an' Jack came in,
his face white as if he had done a terrible sin.
Sorry faither it wisnae Alex that done this horrible deed,
oh so sorry faither I wis stupid, Jack did 'onestly plead.
It wis me as ah flicked a lighted match,
oan blidy fire those curtains did catch.
Aw a kid dae wis tae pull them doon oan the flair,
an' smuther the flames wae the back o' that there chair.
Noo , faither dinae explode,--- at aw,
even efter aw whit he had saw.
Faither said. Twa things saved yea Jack ma lad,
an' fur those twa things you should be glad.
First wan, yea admitted yer firey crime,
saved yer wee bruther frae a hell o' a time.
Second wan wis yer presence o' mind,
actin' sae quickly whin yea were in a terrible bind.
So ma lad, thank you for being so quick an' true,
no punishment but a reward for you is due.
Sadly for me noo baith have gone,
but niver have lights so brightly shone:)
The Auld Yin.
THE LEGEND OF CELINE, THE WHITE LADY
In French Canada no legend is more tragic than that of Celine,
A beautiful Quebec maiden who, long ago, fell in love with Alain.
He came galloping by on his white horse, a handsome young marine -
They wanted marriage and happily prepared their wedding plan.
They would go to the church in a horse-drawn carriage
They would buy the tidal watermill near their house by the river
Next to Montmorency Falls : a small whitewashed cottage
With garden and daisy flowers; and he would become the miller.
But one day Francois was called to military action in a war terrible-
Every evening, pallid and wan, she searched by the river for her lover in vain.
Her beloved lost his life in battle, and Celine's bridal grief was inconsolable.
“Alain,” she called, convinced in her heart that they would meet again.
After a year Celine could stand her painful loss no more - the searching, the calls.
One ashen moonlit night, in her immaculate pearl-blossom wedding gown
She ran to the river, climbed onto the white horses of the misty Montmorency Falls.
And disappeared into mystery, as the swirling ivory-silver waves swept down.
Calling his name, she slipped into the foamflowers. Her snowy bride’s dress
Was transformed into the falls’ watery cascade, and her long wedding-veil floated away
And became a smaller waterfall nearby, as she swooned in the mist’s caress,
Listening to the soft loving words she heard Alain say.
On moonlit evenings the maiden in white is still seen through the misty cloud
Of shimmering water cascading like daisy petals off the falls in their course:
They say that his name can be heard in the surf and spume of the torrent loud
“Alain, my life-love, wait for me on your white horse. . . . .”
……………………………
NOTE:
This is a well-known legend about the tragic love story of the White Lady of Montmorency
Falls. The waterfalls ( Les Chutes de Montmorency) are located between Quebec City and Ile
d'Orleans, on the St. Lawrence River. These spectacular foamy falls are well worth a
visit. Their height is 50% greater than Niagara; and the nearby ancient city of Quebec is
unique in North America.
Somewhere on this pretty planet,
There is a heart made of granite,
Indignation its pulse would take,
The soul’s machine fear'd trust too fake.
On righteous wings glory’s noose,
Hangs the head of war’s best muse,
Her eyes befit the worst of times,
The look, the stare defies all rhymes.
Reaching into forgotten tales,
History chose armored males,
Dusty tomes on hidden shelves,
Books in tongues for tiny elves.
Here’s to He who broke the bread,
A promise too many came instead,
Land so fertile flowers swooned,
Food to heal the people’s wound.
Abundance wreaks what dreams deny,
Riches breach thy neighbors cry,
Winds begin like soft whispers pass,
Fear the tempest that might amass.
No one heard the approaching storm,
The blind saw not the eyeless worm,
Man’s great cities it came to breed,
A pathos so hungry it began to feed.
The poor of mind hailed this time,
Its witless soldiers stuck in crime,
But this was no Christian phase,
Powerful waves, everyone pays.
Morning took hold, the sky was dark,
The bow was bent and knew its mark,
A book of facts, a thousand lies,
Verse so deep frozen beauty cries.
With thunder’s yoke rains wash took hold,
On tides ebbed out went all once old,
Upon spring flowers hope took turn,
Lime and ashes make death’s love yearn.
Once the deluge heavy airs broke,
Weeds and vermin went with a stroke,
Poison and bile, cancers two friends,
Fell to the grounds hungry amends.
Trees laughed loud and grew their hair,
Opulent green color’d the air,
The crowds were gone, the coast was clear,
Butterfly songs for all to hear.
Know you man’s hopeless devices,
Always waiting for a crisis,
To stick a sword in another’s heart,
Man’s most pathetic lost dead art.
Wolves and tigers follow no rules,
Never betting on prudish tools,
Blaming not the world as given,
Their jaws obey love’s laws arisen.
Eons ago a vow was made,
Years before words lost to trade,
The path before you poets know,
Only your heart can make life glow.
Pointed fingers hide three blind mice,
Beware of crowds and mob’s advice,
J’accuse writ large holds guilt away,
Thumbs up to She who holds her sway.
It is called the American Bar in the Savoy Hotel, in the Covenant Garden area of central London just off the Strand. Tonight, it was awash with indifferent lovers searching for another dramatic romantic interlude or perhaps just some empty sex on a Saturday night in mid-August.
The man stroked high on the thigh of his date or escort; one can never be certain when it comes to these types of complicated arrangements, as she continued to push her skirt down. I took this as not a good sign of things to come later in the deep edge of night.
She swallowed champagne by the glass, as he plowed into his third or fourth bottle of over-priced foreign beer. It was at this moment I realized everything at the American Bar in the Savoy comes with a high price, even when you are
more than willing to pay it.
Fascinated, I watched the scene play out as he leaned further in to her, almost eclipsing her profile. Youth was not going to be his constant companion on this evening or any in the future; his best days were adrift, lost in another moment in the conscious stream of time.
At the next table, the young suit pursued the lithe blonde seated across the table. Drinks ordered, then swapped, he didn’t like his. An early exchange of bartered goods since he had a wedding band and she was still looking. The night was early and exciting without paying the check.
A large rainbow gathering anointed another birthday for one of them; the ebb and flow of celebrating with best wishes and pictures to be passed around Monday morning. No doubt the tab was going to be high but it was a Saturday night and another year to be tacked on.
There was no shortage of lookers versus takers spread out unevenly in the crowded room, as the piano player stylishly swooned out Cole Porter songs from the great American songbook. The players and the played filled up the bar, wondering how to make this night different.
The quick sideways glance, hoping to make eye contact with an unknown partner, held for a moment or perhaps just not long enough. When I asked, no one could tell me why it is called the American Bar located in a London Hotel on the Strand but I was free to guess.
I asked the desert
to carry me from this place
of the Qubbanet El-Qirud’ infertile soil
suddenly, that whisper of wind
took my hand, and walked
along and alone with me
I, heard a voice, in tones of angels
“we see your beautiful life within”
one that we do not understand
yet, I do not remember this life
as having beauty
I see a life that I have
wasted thoroughly; jealously
and unrighteousness ruled
my empty daze, before
this; please do something
do look closely into me
I asked this of both the angels
and my desert friend
the desert smiled…
as all of Heaven’ Angels
swooned and said, “your life,
from infinity you have come”
an infinite and [i'n(y)o?om?r?b?l]
probability, willingly mixing
yourself in all particles of life; you are of
infinite scintillae; that blend
into; the “special purpose”; that you
is urbane, decipherable, and vestal
becoming a fertile soil, to accept
those ill wills and innumerable sins
of humanity, all whom have broken the trust
of that which was given…
impurity therefore, is humankind’ “Portae Lucis”
for in the realization of;
you gain your last chance
for a one time, "Contact with Eternity"
you are but dirty and
impure and infertile; I, have cried
upon my friend; this barren desert
begging to become, a participle
of a fertile land; enabled to produce
squalls and outcomes, and sublimed sulfur
I will enjoy, these powerful urges, these
lovingly nudged immoralities within me
and when, I finish with the each of you
I shall enjoy a long and lovely “Desert Sorcery”
verdancy, will be the [?ks'pe? tri?e?t] of thee
across this entire Earth; out of me
the sons and daughters of inequity will be judged
and their eternal ends will be welcomed
each of those who is as Adam, and Eve; will be left
out of a home, upon this Eden’ mothered globe
you, who have made burgoo of your lives
know this to be your truth
those who have suffered the dirt and impurity
of the oppressors will be made free, instantaneously!
Oh my lord! Once again, remake me as thee!
and reproduce me, as the very last; God Particle!
Unrelenting gale, lashed
lashed incessantly
satiated? it seems so ….
for now at least ,
for there is a lull now,
And the air now carries
the cry, nay groan of a hapless woman;
I followed the sound as a rescue team member,
traced the sound to a shattered hut,
inside she lays hapless , writhing in pain;
she said she was raped in darkness
by an unknown who made good the hour of gale,
satiated, left her in lurch to disappear in darkness;
next to the woman lies the body of a man
her husband , felled by a fallen boulder …
the woman now swooned after
telling her story that happened
when the gale lashed …….
she is now in the secure hands of the rescuer
I shudder to think who 'll console her
when she regains consciousness
and how she 'd bear the trauma and pain;
Who is ruthless ? the unrelenting gale
that lashed or the treacherous man
who stealthily satisfied his lust
in darkness and when the poor woman's
hut was crumbling unable to withstand
The lust of the gale.....nay its onslaught .
BBroken in half
the battered moon
hung dejected in the gloom
in the gloom of Prodigal Bay
the ending of a vital day.
The day I found my Father's son
the Golden Boy,the only one
to ever make my father smile
a child of beauty,without guile
He rocked a crockeyed rocking chair
as if to rock away from there
In his hand,a living thing,a fishing pole,
could almost sing
as he sailed the light line high
between the river and the sky
He never turned his eyes to mine
just rocked and fished his fishing line
I told him of our father's plight,
I bade him come with me tonight
to gaze a final time and share
one moment just to say," I care."
The line zinged out to kiss the tide
across the river's other side
the moonlight sparked the flying tears
along the line,that spanned the years
and we were back there in the past
watching brother at the mast
smiling as he sailed along
singing some old sailor's song
laughing as our mother danced
on the deck,but then she chanced
to catch her ankle in a loop
a rope piled there upon the sloop
she screamed a scream that echoes yet
and now my brother can't forget
he blamed himself for her demise
and could not bear our father's eyes
for he was charged with keeping straight
and neat the deck and now self hate
had kept him here on Prodigal Bay
until our father's dying day
I knelt beside his crumpled form
I touched his hand so tired and worn
He turned and handed me the line
"Your turn to make the catch this time."
The eddies spiraled without end
the way our mother's love had been
I watched the bobber rise and fall
I tried to comprehend it all
and then the snap!,the pop of line
the slack was gone,the fish was mine!
I yelped and staggered to my feet
my brother jumped out of his seat
and caught his ankle in the line
I couldn't reach for him in time
He disappeared beneath the creek
my sight grew dim,my legs grew weak
I must have swooned there on the dock
the deja vu,the pain and shock
well anyway my job was done,
I found my father's favorite son!
I think i made a terrible mistake,
i didn’t think it could be true
but who did you tell about me and what did i say about you
because it was going ever so perfectly, i was happy at the start
i told my friends your’re ever so handsome
you told your friend’s i’m so smart
and both of us were in it
we both wanted to be
i said my favourite thing about you is how you treat me
because it was so beautiful
so gentle so kind
you wiped tears from my eyes and you kissed my anxious mind
i said “oh i met this boy…”
im convinced he put stars in the sky because every time he looks at me
well
im a psychological sigh
i’m fun to be around and my only baggage is a purse
i said “he’s better than i could have ever imagined”
and then everything got worse
and i remember the moment distinctively i told a friend “look who i found!” they said you were perfect for me
that their jaw fell to the ground
i said how well it was going
how beautiful you talk about me
how you were “the book boyfriend that i never thought in real life i would see”
my friend probably thought i was just crazy
you were after all a guy i just met
but both of us i would have so easily bet because you were so funny
and oh darling
in the same sense of humour as i… alway’s texting me to hangout
you struggled to say goodbye
you struggled to speak around me, swooned when i wore a dress
i wanted everything to be perfect
instead i made it such a mess because they weren’t really my friend
i learned that too late
because days after, you pulled back said that for you “i shouldn’t wait”
and i stepped into my apartment , purse fell to the ground
it suddenly felt to heavy again when i remembered your laugh’s sound
and you weren’t around to wipe the tears
nobody kisses that anxious mind
i said “look who i found!”
you heard “better , you should find”
oh
so now i don’t talk about it
now i don’t talk much at all
because you never know who’s hopes that you tripped, when you talk about your fall
Alone I sat on the wet sands,
Of the Sernabatim beach lands.
The sun reflected blue sky,
On the greenish grey waters it looked so dry.
My inner face I saw on the bed in the sweltering sunny afternoon,
With the heat and shock I began to swoon.
Alone, I moved myself towards my inner face lying on the warm sandy bed, the into the waters warm,
The breaking waves look to me like many a headless limp form.
Warm waters I sense splash unto my waist,
Cool salty breeze sting my moist lips and chest, sweat erased.
The frothy waters seem so white,
Feral imagination within me is beginning to run regressive and makes me feel all right.
Alone I am rooted on the sandy shore,
Now,I have within me, coming to the fore,
Feelings… deep feelings inside ignite,
Need to hold on to them tight,
The feelings incite,
A poem in my mind’s eye I feel and now see, that I would have to write,
Without any spite.
Alone, I am in the waters warm,
The breaking waters pass over my inner face and lash against me and quickly change form,
To myself feelings that turn to spirity words I begin to recite,
As I cast my eyes on my inner face lying on the warm bed and from within springs delight,
And in its own right,
The poem begins to rewrite.
Alone, I am in the waters warm,
My feelings have begun to rewrite,
In my mind without any spite,
I am now filling myself with delight,
As expression is flowing freely in its own right,
And will transcend on to paper in black and white.
Alone, I now sit, drenched,
To the sands entrenched.
Melts the noon,
And evening falls attune,
The sun reflected blue sky,
Has now swooned away as to my inner face I turn a blind eye.
Alone, I now sit, drenched,
Content in me and with no feelings wrenched.
Gratified….soothened…satisfied…pleased,
Relaxed…happy….at ease and contented……eased.
What seemed to all a ghastly inner face,
Now to me is full of grace.